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The  Battle  of  t 
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On  Munson's  heights  the  Rebel  banners  wave, 
Their  hungn  hosts  oar  loyal  'c:ions  brows, 
Black  muzzled  guns  from  rampxrls  gloonrn  frown, 
And  threatening  silence  s.11  press  n  n  storm. 

The  new  commander,  youthful   modest  hold. 
From  Custis-house  bui  vej !  the  bristling  wold. 
"Here  are  my  countrymen,  ami  there  my  foes, 
"  On  codfish  these  were  reared,  nod  COrn-ftd  those." 

The  Press  anil  Hankers  nitre  nir  to  advance — 
Two  Hundred  Thousand  rebels  at  a  glance — 
Strange  that  all  efforts  to  dislodge  them  (ail — 
"  tnnihilator  of  Three  armies"  quail? 

Numbers  are  mini',  munitions,  horses,  guns, 

Vasl  stores,  great  love  of  Union,  and  the  funds, 
Two  Bourbons  on  my  stall' with  brains  of  lead. 
Our  Teamsters  steady,  fat  lieutenant  'lead. 

Nofear  of  panic  can  be  argued  now, 

All  further  need  of  drill  they  disavow" — 

hall  my  brow  adorn, 
Or,  fuss  and  feathet  eat  Scotl  i>c  torn. 

What  mi  re  is  nei  iceess. 

To  free  the  Blai  e   hi    dreadful  k  i  nog  -  red 
Some  new  idee  we  want,  some  lofty  thought; 

For  "  Hearth  and  Home'    the  I  tllgar  foe  have  fought. 

Union,  no  longt  i  serves  to  steel  the  heart, 
Nerve  (lie  strong  arm,  and  animate  eaeh  part 

Of  this  great  multitude,  they  smell  the  rat, 

Olistinate,  stupid  fanatics,  killed  that. 

Ah  !  happy  thought,  sent  at  the  nick  of  time, 

Watch-word  euphoniou  m  sublime, 

With  that  to  fight  on,  din  of  arm-  won'1  stun, 
Thanks'     Thanks!   great  Jovi — "I'll   have  no   more 
Bulls-run." 

"  No  more  Bnlls-run"  anothet  such  would  stop 
The  loan  from  being  ta'en,  our  only  prop, 
And  Dr.  Russell's  thunder  in  the  Times. 
Would  i  e  :, Inn  st  i        id       «  ant  of  Dim 

'  —  what  woeful  fate  is  I 
Rough  hands  would  tear,  not  gi  nl  cow    i  atwine 
The  victoi  -    arland,  which  with  blush  I  wear, 
A  brand  of  Bhame,  tot  unearned  laurels,  there. 


(Iiimi  al  reviews,  our  hero  ordqpi  out 
lliamotle;  niiinbers,  and  with  promise stoul 
To    'stand  b\  ilieini:  they'll  but  stand  b;  him." 
Gin     them  the  war-cry — points  to  Munson  grim. 

•Shall  treason  thus  dure  raise  its  brazen  front, 
And  tl.ii.ni  its  banners  in  oar  " loyal"  face. 
Shall  these  starved  legions,  ragged,  mutinous,  wild, 
Hold  longer  in  base  I'ear.  our  "  Army  grand?" 

"  No  I  hurst  the  hands,  peal  forth  the  anthem  loud 

them  tie  rescued  airs,  the  envied  Hag. 
By  loree  of  numbers  we  shall  win  the  day, 
Crush,  blot,  wipe,  squelch  the  traitors  quite  away." 

"  No  more  Hull-runs"    the  bullet  hits  the  mark. 
The  troops  delighted  Bfaouted  it  till  dark  ; 
Ami  Echo  taking  up  the  novel  strain, 
Sin i  ii  front  Mnnson's  hark  to  the gain. 

(inward  they  march,  with  bated  breath,  all  quiet, 
Not  fearful,  no,  "  We're  soldiers  and  must  try  it." 
Some  ha  l  si  a  n  Bethel,  and  the  recollection 
Gave  food  fot     >1 u    reflection. 

"  The' re  two  miles  off  the  light  commenced  already  ! 
Hark!    Horror'   Help!    they're  on  us — Bteadj — steady — 
eh  pumpkins,  codfish,  apple-sauce  and  chowder, 

We'll  eat  no  more,  we'll  all  he  food  for  powder.'' 

"Only  a  panic,  very  trifling  matter, 
A  very  slight  mistake  caused  all  that  clatter, 
A  stupid  biped,  thought  a  fly  a  gun, 
Discharged  his  piece,  and  made  our  horses  run." 

"No  great  harm  done,  but  Fifty  Dutch  went  down — 
Crimean  blunders  wrought  n  great  renown: 
From  rebel  presses  we've  pressed  out  the  starch, 
Bennel  will  make  it  bumptious — forward  !  march  I" 

Not  roused   by    what   was    greatly  feared   would  make 

theiu. 
All  hopes  ran  high  that  by  surprise  they'd  take  them, 
No  signs  of  life,  no  sentry's  step  is  heard, 
Crawl,  rreep   squirm,  wriggle,  pounce  upon  the  bird. 

Dp  the  steep  hillside,  over  ditch  and  mound, 
The  summit  gained,   Ihej  bieathe,  and  look  around, 
Decamped — sold, — humbug' d, — worse  than  a  Bull-run, 
Straw,  Stove-pips  Cannon,  ano  a  Quaker  gun. 


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